


Seven Swans-a-Swimming

by InitialA



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan Secret Santa, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Feels, First Christmas, Fluff, Holidays, Surprises, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:37:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2818946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InitialA/pseuds/InitialA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the solstice and Christmas approach, holiday traditions are shared by the inhabitants of the Enchanted Forest and the land without magic. Emma is determined that Henry will only have good memories of the holiday, and Killian is determined that from now on, Emma will have new, good memories to overtake the old.</p><p>A Captain Swan Secret Santa present, given early in celebration of Longnight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Swans-a-Swimming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jdmusiclover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdmusiclover/gifts).



> This is for whimsicallyenchantedrose, or jdmusiclover here on AO3. I'm your Secret Santa! I wanted to wait, but then I thought "Nah, it's the solstice, it's still seasonal." So I fully take the fall for being the first CS Santa to reveal themselves, and I hope you enjoy this ridiculously long fic that I had to write poetry for. :)

Colorful, twinkling lights were strung up around many of the buildings in town. He’d witnessed several people dragging fir trees into their homes, and during his nightly prowls they could be seen through the windows: illuminated with more colorful lights and festooned with decorations. The children of Storybrooke were normally cheery, but now there were songs and talks of “presents” and “Santa Claus” as packs of them darted by after school.

Clearly some sort of new curse was settling upon the town, and no one had thought to tell him.

“A curse?” Emma had the gall to start laughing when he asked over dinner. Since her acquisition of her own home, she’d taken to inviting him over often for meals or just to spend ‘a quiet moment’ with her. She pointed at him with a French fry. “It’s not a curse, it’s Christmas.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And that sort of name is supposed to lead me to believe that it’s  _not_  a curse?”

She rolled her eyes, and smothered the fry in ketchup. “It’s a holiday. Surely you know what those are.” He huffed and waited for her to make her point. She chewed slowly. “It used to be a religious holiday, but it’s kind of more secular these days. People exchange presents and spend time with their families. You didn’t have anything like that back home?”

He thought back. It had been so long since he had anyone or anything to celebrate with that any memories of holidays were from before Neverland. There were memories of Milah and the snow, of giving the crew a night off for their pleasure. Memories of Liam, tossing a parcel at him one dark morning before retiring after a long night of celebrating aboard the  _Jewel_ , and of finding one to give in return. His mother singing softly to him, a shimmering ghost in his long life, and burning a sweet-scented log in the fireplace to ward off the darkness in the long, cold winter’s night until the sun returned. “Longnight,” he said finally. “We had Longnight.”

“The solstice?” Emma asked.

“Aye, I suppose. There were gifts, and we’d stay awake through the night, singing and telling stories, to remind the sun to return.”

Emma smiled, the rare, genuinely pleased smile he cherished. “I guess Christmas is like that.”

She went on to explain different traditions, wondering aloud a few times why her parents had neglected to mention Longnight before. They seemed to match up more or less in their own ways. “Was it like, a big thing? When you were a kid?”

Killian shrugged. “I can’t recall. It was, like, a million years ago,” he teased, mimicking her accent and flippant speech habits.

She swatted at him over the table and he ducked out of reach, laughing. He knew better than to ask after her childhood memories of such a holiday. If there were such things as happy memories, she would keep them close. “Which reminds me that I need to get started on Henry’s gifts… and find a tree…” she said as they began to clean up. “I mean, most of our memories in New York were made up, but we did have one Christmas together, and he’s really big on going all out.”

“The lad does enjoy a celebration.”

Emma smiled fondly at the dishes in her hand. “Yeah, he does. And it’ll be the first Christmas everyone’s together and not cursed… I just want to give him good memories, you know?”

The implied ‘ _like I didn’t get’_  is strong, and Killian was pained for the lost girl she still is at heart. As they return the kitchen to its usual cluttered-but-clean state, and as she lured him into the bedroom, he decided that Henry wasn’t the only one to gain good memories this Christmas.

* * *

He sauntered into the police station a few days later, and to his relief only David was there. “Hook,” David hardly glanced up from his paper. “Emma’s out right now, she’ll be back later.”

“Aye, it’s you I came to speak to, mate.”

The prince looked up. Things were uneasy between them still, with an agreed-upon truce of civility for Emma’s sake, but Killian hoped that this might win the prince back on his side. David chucked the paper aside, crossing his arms as he regarded him. “What’s going on?”

Killian waved him off. “Nothing, it’s just… I was discussing something with Emma the other day. She was explaining this ‘Christmas’ tradition to me, and inquiring about our Longnight traditions. She seemed hell-bent on providing the lad with a memorable holiday, and I thought that, seeing as how this seems to also be her first holiday with everyone…”

“You wanted to make sure it was a good one,” David nodded slowly, that careful look of scrutiny on his face.

Killian nodded. David’s eyebrows went up. “Well. I mean, Snow and I were going to throw a Longnight party, but we didn’t have anything solid planned for Christmas other than dinner and presents. It’s only four days apart, you see.”

“Aye, that wasn’t… entirely the problem,” Killian started, and scratched his neck. “I’m not… entirely sure how to go about a gift for her.”

The prince’s eyebrows went up further. The door clattered open behind them. Killian turned briefly to see Henry enter. “Is Mom here?”

“No, she’s out,” David said, looking from Henry back to Killian. “But I’m glad you’re here, Henry.”

“Why’s that?” Henry asked, shrugging off his backpack and dropping it on the floor next to the desk

“We’ve got a secret mission,” David grinned.

Henry’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Killian felt a great sense of unease as David stood up. “We’ve got to take Hook shopping for your mother.”

* * *

Longnight arrived, and at dusk the town gathered, as per the norm, at the diner. The tables in the outdoor seating area had been cleared, leaving behind room for a large iron fire pit. Emma watched with interest as Grumpy got a fire going, and chopped wood was added. “And this is for…?”

The nostalgic scent of burning pine was almost overwhelming. He was a wee lad again, in a home he hardly remembered, safe in his mother’s arms as the fire grew, and the shadows fled its powerful light.  _Magic_ , his mother had whispered. Killian swallowed hard, and squeezed his Swan’s hand. “We build fires to keep out the darkness.”

“It’s a guiding light for the sun,” Mary Margaret added, hoisting a bundled-up Neal, not quite one, higher in her arms. “To show the way back to us come morning.”

Emma was looking around at the gathering: almost everyone was in the streets this night, and the flickering shadows on the walls said there were more fires being lit, more lights to guide them all home. Songs were heard in all directions, mugs of hot drinks as far as the eye could be seen. Emma shifted a little, unease on her face. “It’s been a long time since I felt so out of place,” she admitted with a nervous laugh.

Mary Margaret smiled sadly and reached out to put her hand on her daughter’s arm. Killian let them have a moment, and then pulled on her hand. “Come then, Swan, and we’ll have you introduced in no time. We’ll start with drinks and then you’ll learn some songs, aye?”

Emma laughed, allowing herself to be pulled behind him. He put a mug of hot toddy in her hand, and they toasted each other, savoring the warm whisky and spices. Killian escorted her up and down the street, admiring odd decorations and explaining songs she didn’t know. He was surprised at himself, recalling these details of a holiday that, a week before, he hadn’t given the time of day to in decades. One of the Merry Men pulled them in to share their fire and to join in song as Alan-a-Dale accompanied them on his guitar. Emma fumbled over half the words, but laughed through it with the men teasing her only a little, and as she tucked herself into Killian’s embrace against the chill he watched the firelight dance across her face and her hair and thought, not for the first time, that she was the most beautiful woman in all the world.

Henry called them away soon, wanting Killian’s help at playing a game involving fruit and a quick draw with a knife that he really never remembered having learned, and after losing three rounds spectacularly, Henry sandwiched himself between his mother and Killian and dragged them back to Granny’s for hot cocoa. Emma caught his eye as Henry rambled on about all the new things he was learning, and there was that genuine smile again that made his heart light. They toasted each other with cocoa this time, and didn’t notice the flash of a camera from Mary Margaret’s direction as they drank deeply.

The night was indeed long. It began to snow after midnight, and many retreated indoors for a time to eat. Killian, Emma, and Henry took up one booth in the diner, with Mary Margaret, David and Neal behind. Henry waved Belle over to join them, to her grateful smile. Regina was sitting with the Merry Men, holding a sleepy Roland while Robin toasted a wavering Will Scarlet. The room was warm, and the food rich, and Henry was dozing against his step-grandmother when Alan-a-Dale brought out his guitar again and took requests.

Emma leaned against him, the picture of content, as the wee hours of morning turned to gray pre-dawn light during the songs and the stories of long ago. He nudged her awake from her doze when the occupants of the diner began to leave. “It’s time,” he said softly as she regained her bearings.

They went outside, Belle’s arms around Henry to guide the sleepy teenager through the snow that had built up overnight. The townsfolk made their way to the sea, where the sky grew lighter as true dawn approached. The wind was brisk, and Emma tucked herself against him once more. Mary Margaret and David stood on her other side, with Belle and Henry on his. Alan-a-Dale picked out a tune as the sun broke free of the ocean, and Killian’s memory stirred as the words rose almost unconsciously from his memory:

 _And you are well_  
O children mine, sound the bells  
For the dark ere the light  
Fled ond lost with the night  
O’er hills a new sun swells

His mother’s voice echoed in his ears for a moment before he realized it was Emma’s voice he heard, softly chanting the ages-old hymn to greet the sun after the longest night. His own voice faltered as the second verse began, and by the third he was hardly following along. She caught him watching her, and smiled sheepishly. “Mom taught me yesterday.”

He kissed her forehead in the light of the new day. Then, stepping behind her, Killian drew a long chain from his pocket, and slipped it around her neck. Emma twisted slightly, looking back at him and then down at the pendant hanging from the chain. She caressed it lightly. “A sun…?”

It was a simple silver disk with golden rays twisting from it, no bigger than a doubloon. The piece had caught his eye whilst being dragged hither and yon in search of a Christmas present. “To mark the occasion of your first Longnight, darling.”

He saw a smile, quick as a flash, and she sniffled, leaning back against him. “It’s cold,” she lied to the unasked question of why she was sniffling.

“Aye,” he told her, and held her close, resting his head against hers.

With the long night at its end, many of the townsfolk began to disperse home to their beds, but some stayed to wait out the sun’s rise from the horizon. And when Alan-a-Dale began the next song, Killian crooned the words softly into his Swan’s ear. Her fingers came up to lace with his. “ _And you are the light that guides me home…_ ”

* * *

On Christmas Eve, a few days later, Emma stared off into space. Her mug of coffee cooled in her hand; the few sips she’d had weren’t enough to bring her to full wakefulness, but she also wasn’t looking to court a scalded tongue.

The little house on the edge of town looked positively festive, festooned with lights and baubles and garland. A decent-sized tree stood in the living room, and stockings were hung over the fireplace. She had gone all out for perhaps the second time in her life--the first being that first Christmas in New York, the others all false memories--not for a holiday she didn’t really care for, but for the son she cared for more than anything else. The son who was currently upstairs, held hostage by his budding teenage sleep hormones, and wasn’t spending Christmas Eve with her that night. She knew Regina wanted that time with him, but it still stung a little. Finding a balance was hard.

A knock at the door roused her from her daze. Emma wrapped her warm robe around her tighter, and opened it. “Swan,” Killian, always alarmingly cheerful at horrifyingly early hours, breezed past her into the house.

“Morning to you too,” Emma said, closing the door behind him.

He gave her a chaste kiss. “Now, why aren’t you dressed?”

She gave him an incredulous look. “Because it’s eight in the morning? Oh Christmas Eve?”

“All the more reason to be up and dressed.”

“Why?”

“So I can evict you from the premises,” he grinned at her.

Emma blinked a few times and felt the need to drink more coffee. Perhaps she’d misheard him, or just misunderstood. “You want to throw me out of my own house,” she repeated slowly.

“In essence, yes.”

“On Christmas Eve.”

He nodded, still smiling. She continued, “At _eight in the freaking morning_.”

“Aye. Now, be a good little Swan, and go to your mother’s. She asked for your assistance today, and I told her I’d pass along the message.”

Clearly there was something going wrong in the world, and Emma wasn’t nearly awake enough to go out and fix it. She stared at Killian for a few more minutes before finally throwing her hands into the air and stalking up the stairs to take a shower and get dressed. She did so with a speed that would have made the tortoise look like the hare, and even Henry was awake and shoveling cereal in his mouth sleepily by the time she got back downstairs. Had he another hand, Killian would have likely been twiddling his thumbs as he waited for her. “Aye, now then, the lad and I will take care of things here. Off to the castle with you,” he told her.

Henry waved sleepily--nature overtook nurture, and every morning proved with no doubt that he was her kid--and after Killian led her to the door, Emma was unceremoniously evicted from her own home. She looked back at the closed door with the brightly-baubled wreath and scowled.

* * *

Mary Margaret kept her busy all day. There were cookies to be made and desserts to be crafted, unwrapped presents to be tinseled and bowed, baby brothers to entertain, and gossip to be had. Around four in the afternoon, Emma collapsed on the couch, Neal babbling away happily at a Little Einsteins video on the TV, and Mary Margaret putting away the last of the newly-cleaned baking goods. “If this is what Christmas with family is like, I think I like my old life better,” she grumbled.

“Oh Emma…” Mary Margaret said softly.

“Not like that,” Emma corrected herself with haste. “This is just… a lot. Of work that just seems unnecessary.”

“Well, it’s our first Christmas as a big family together, without anything hanging over us. Can you blame me for wanting to go all our?” Her mother asked.

Emma chose not to remind her about Gold; Belle would be joining them the next afternoon, so she would remember soon enough. “No. Same reason my house has nutcrackers out the wazoo.”

“ _Speaking_  of your house…” Mary Margaret began, and Emma couldn’t help but laugh. She’d been dancing around the subject all afternoon, and Emma had given her the perfect opportunity to finally meddle. “Any idea what the boys are up to?”

“None,” Emma admitted. “Why they’d need all day is beyond me.”

Her mother hummed happily. “Well, I think it’s sweet.”

“Oh, yeah, kicking me out of my own house with hardly any warning at eight in the morning, that’s sweet,” Emma rolled her eyes. Neal screeched, and banged one of his toys against the rail of his baby pen. She smiled. “See? Neal agrees.”

Mary Margaret came and sat at Emma’s feet with a sigh. “He agrees to anything. See, watch: Neal, look at Mama. Neal, should we throw away all of our material goods and go live in the forest and survive on nuts and wild berries and what we hunt?”

Neal screeched again, a gummy grin revealing the few teeth he already had. Mary Margaret gave Emma an ‘I told you so’ look. “I mean, I could do it,” she said of the question. “But I think your father would miss hot showers.”

Emma laughed, and then her phone buzzed with a text message. “Looks like I’m allowed to go home,” she said, reading it.

Mary Margaret got up and grabbed a wrapped gift off of the counter. “Here, this is for you and Hook,” she said, handing it to her. “You can open it tonight.”

Emma eyed the gift warily. “Okay…”

“Just take it, Emma.”

* * *

When Emma pulled up to her house, she had to double-check to make sure it was the right address. Mason jars lined the driveway and the path up to the house; white candles flickered in each of them, lighting the path and the snow on the ground in the early night. The gift tucked under her arm, Emma cautiously followed the lights to the door, and opened it. “Hello?”

Soft music came from the mp3 player in the living room. The house smelled wonderful, a mix of delicious foods and Christmas-scented candles. And out of the kitchen came Killian, wearing an apron over his clothes and a Santa hat perched jauntily on his head. “Merry Christmas, Swan!”

She wanted to laugh, she really did, but the entire effect was such a wonderful mix of charming and ridiculous and loving that all she could do was break out into a grin and hug him. “What on Earth were you two up to all day?”

“We had nothing to do with it, love, it was all Santa and the spirit of Christmas. We just wanted you out of the way, lest you scowl too hard and scare it off,” he teased, and she swatted at him.

“I do not scowl that hard.” He raised an eyebrow at that, and she amended, “Much. Did Henry get to Regina’s?”

“Aye, that he did, your father came to take him not an hour ago. Now, I trust your mother didn’t let you eat dessert before dinner?”

He led her into the kitchen, where a small Christmas feast had been laid out: ham and potatoes and jellied cranberries, and an assortment of other things, topped off with a bottle of red wine. He ditched the apron and told her about how he and Henry had spent the majority of the day puzzling out recipes and delighting in almost burning the house down on several different occasions, one of which involved the toaster oven. “And here I thought the candles outside might be a fire hazard,” Emma teased over her wine glass.

“No, those were the least of our worries.”

There would be plenty of leftovers--something Emma suspected Henry had purposely maneuvered--but Killian insisted she go to the living room and let him take care of cleanup. So stunned by this insistence was she that she did so without comment. Instead, she got a fire going in the hearth, mixing the scent of burning wood to the candles lit around the room and the remnants of dinner. Killian joined her a short time later with a plate, on which two mugs of cocoa were balanced, as well as cookies. “Oh, God, I can’t eat another bite,” Emma complained, reaching for the mug and a cookie anyway.

He just smiled at her, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. As Emma bit into the cookie, she watched him warily. “You look like an elf,” she told him through the crumbs.

“Elves keep surprises up their sleeves.”

“I thought those were pirates.”

“Those too,” he agreed, and pointed up.

She looked, and almost choked on her cookie in a startled laugh. Someone, and she had strong suspicions about that _someone_ , had hung mistletoe above the couch. “Who told you about _that_?” She asked after swallowing.

“The lad. Seemed to think it would be  _amusing_ ,” Killian said softly, a shit-eating grin splitting his face wide as he leaned in. “I, for one, happily partake in any traditions that involve showering you with affection.”

Their noses brushed together, and she went in the last ten percent--her first mistletoe kiss. It was simple, sweet, chaste, and he tasted like the wine and chocolate--or maybe that part was from her, she wasn’t sure. She felt him shift, and when they parted, he presented her with a small, wrapped box. “Killian, you already got me something,” she protested, fingering the sun disk around her neck.

“That was for Longnight, this is for Christmas.”

She huffed, and reached over the back of the couch for the gift Mary Margaret had given her. “You’re not getting your present until tomorrow, like a  _normal_  person, but Mom said this was for both of us, and you can open it.”

He smirked at her as he took it. “You have a very interesting notion of what ‘normal’ is, love.”

“Christmas presents are opened  _on Christmas_.”

“And very strict rules for someone who doesn’t care for the holiday.”

“Shut up and open the damn present.”

Emma watched as he tore the paper off, and opened the small cardboard box: inside was a frame, crafted from worn and weathered driftwood. In the frame was a photo she had missed being taken, from the Longnight activities a few days before. She, Killian, and Henry were in various stages of drinking cocoa and laughing with each other; there was whipped cream on Henry’s nose, and Killian watched her with a reverent look in his eye while she looked down into her whipped cream.

For all intents and purposes, it was a photo of a family.

Emma felt lightheaded, and glanced up at Killian: he too appeared speechless. “I have to call her…” Emma murmured, fumbling for her phone.

“No,” Killian stopped her by laying his hook gently on her leg. “We’ll thank her tomorrow, in person.”

He got up and set the photo on the mantle above her and Henry’s stockings. Her heart twisted, and she got up, setting her unopened gift aside. She went to the tree, and got one of the two parcels with “Killian” written on them in her handwriting. “Here. I wanted to wait, but maybe…”

He turned from staring at the photo to the messily-wrapped gift. Emma’s insides were a huge, nervous mess as he unwrapped this one as well, and a grin bloomed on his face. “I have my own sock,” Killian announced, holding up the red and white stocking, embroidered with his name.

“You know, so Santa can fill it,” she said lamely, her hands retreating defensively into her pockets. “So… you can put it over the fire with ours…”

He started to, but she remembered, “Wait, there’s… Um. Check inside?”

Killian gave her a quizzical look, but looped it on his hook to root inside. He stilled, and then slowly pulled out the contents: a housekey. “Swan, is this…”

Emma felt the words coming, and she wanted to be eloquent and sweet about it, had every intention of it, but the words were there and spilling out and, “You’re here all the time anyway, and it’s stupid to pay Granny when you only sleep there like once a week, and Henry likes you, and yes it’s a housekey, I didn’t say that part, it’s a key to the house. This house. Mine. Ours? If you want it to be? Because I want it to be. It’s a small house, but it’s really big when it’s just me and--”

He cut her off with a kiss, and the key fell to the floor as his hand went to cradle her head, and she knocked the Santa hat he’d worn all evening off his head to thread her fingers in his thick hair. He rested his forehead against hers. “Aye, I’ll move in with you,” he said hoarsely, an emotion she couldn’t name crossing his face and a smile with a hundred emotions at once perhaps permanently fixing itself to her face.

 He dislodged the stocking from his hook, and in another instant she was swept from her feet and he carried her up to the bedroom--their bedroom. “I didn’t open my present,” she protested weakly, clinging to him as he ascended the stairs.

 “Christmas presents are for Christmas,” he teased, mimicking her voice again.

* * *

Later, when he was asleep, Emma crept back downstairs to bank the fire. She caressed the stocking he’d abandoned gently, and picked it up. She shifted the two stockings already hung by the fire with care, and fixed his to the mantle. She envisioned the treats she’d hidden in the pantry, and with a wave of her hand, the stockings were magically filled and waiting for morning, as if Saint Nicholas himself had been there. 

The clock in the hall struck midnight, and Emma hugged herself, looking from the tree, to the dying candles outside, and then to the three stockings and the photo above the fireplace. She was almost afraid to move, as if this were all a wonderful dream that she would wake up from in a moment, but then, she’d felt that way for the last few years, ever since Henry had rung her doorbell on her birthday. “Merry Christmas…” she told herself, meaning it for the first time, and went back upstairs to her warm bed with her warmer pirate.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Happy Longnight and may the sun return to you on the morrow!


End file.
